


On the Edge

by merle_p



Category: Walker (TV 2020)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Infidelity (implied), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Episode: s01e02 Back in the Saddle, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merle_p/pseuds/merle_p
Summary: “Stay,” Liam says quickly, and he, too, sounds awkward, a little rough. “I came for you.”“Okay,” Cordell says carefully, and he can already feel the tension creeping into his shoulders, feels his fingers curling into fists, sick to his stomach at the prospect of yet another confrontation, because he really isn’t sure how much more of that he is able to take. And yet, the snide remark escapes his mouth before he can think to bite his tongue: “You here to yell at me some more?”Liam sets the bottle and glasses on the table, then drags a hand over his face. All of a sudden, he looks tired and worn down. At some point over the past year, his little brother got older, and Cordell wasn’t there to see how and why.
Relationships: Cordell Walker/Liam Walker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27





	On the Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go. It was inevitable, I suppose.

They all have tears in their eyes by the time August’s video is over, and at some point August has put his head on Cordell’s shoulder, has curled up against his side. Stella has her arms wrapped around herself, protectively, defensively, but she smiles, almost indulgently, when she looks back at them, and Cordell takes that as a good sign.

It’s the closest he has felt to his children ever since he came home. It may also be the closest he has been in a while to just completely letting himself fall apart.

So he heaps deserved, effusive praise on August and then sends them back to the main house for the night, trying hard to sound like he really means it when he says that he just needs a little time to think.

And perhaps he _is_ finally getting better at this, because he gets a hug from August and for once, even Stella looks at him with sympathetic sadness rather than resentment in her eyes.

But then the door closes behind them, leaving him alone with only his thoughts, and his thoughts have not been a happy place for a very, very long time.

He stares down at the box with the poker chips sitting at the edge of the table, the thoughtful, gorgeous, _terrible_ posthumous Father’s Day gift from Emily, trying not to get lost in _what ifs_ , forcing himself to confront the revelation that all the unanswered questions he has spent the last year obsessing over, all the suspicious details he kept fixating on, have suddenly dissolved into nothing, run through his fingers like sand, leaving him standing alone in the desert with empty hands.

He knows it should be reassuring. It should be comforting to know that all the fears, the suspicions were just _that_ , were nothing more but his nightmares leaking into his waking hours, weren’t real – but instead the realization is horrifying, devastating, leaving his mind running in circles with nothing left to focus on, trembling on the brink of a giant black hole.

Already, other memories start creeping into his thoughts, glimpses of the past year that he was working so hard to leave behind on the plane to Austin, and he closes his eyes, as if that might actually help banish the images playing out in his mind.

Because here’s the kicker, here is the terrible truth that has got him by the neck: He went undercover so he could finally stop thinking about Emily, and now that he is back, he has been agonizing about Emily so he doesn't have to think about the case. For almost a year, his mind has been strung up between these two large looming shadows, always chasing one in the hope of escaping the other, and not daring to stop out of fear that a third shadow might creep up on him, one that he has been trying so carefully to keep at bay.

There is a sound on the front porch and he flinches, reaches out of instinct for a gun at his hip that isn’t there. He tries to pull himself together, expects August or Stella with an explanation that there’s something they forgot – but instead the door opens to reveal Liam, balancing a heavy bottle of bourbon and two whiskey tumblers in his hands.

“Oh,” Cordell makes, hating the way his voice cracks on the sound. He straightens, runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry,” he adds, warily, because they haven’t talked since their fight the previous night, when he shoved Liam into the grass hard enough for the impact to reverberate through them both. “I didn’t realize you had a date with Bret planned here. The kids didn’t say anything.” He rubs sweaty palms along his thighs. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

In his haste, he fumbles his hat. He knocks it off its chair to the ground, leans over to pick it up, and inadvertently finds himself locking eyes with Liam who is staring down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Stay,” Liam says quickly, and he, too, sounds awkward, a little rough. “I came for you.”

“Okay,” Cordell says carefully, and he can already feel the tension creeping into his shoulders, feels his fingers curling into fists, sick to his stomach at the prospect of yet another confrontation, because he really isn’t sure how much more of that he is able to take. And yet, the snide remark escapes his mouth before he can think to bite his tongue: “You here to yell at me some more?”

Liam sets the bottle and glasses on the table, then drags a hand over his face. All of a sudden, he looks tired and worn down. At some point over the past year, his little brother got older, and Cordell wasn’t there to see how and why.

“No,” Liam sighs, and unscrews the bottle, then busies himself with pouring the whiskey, a good three finger’s widths each, but he makes no move to hand Cordell a glass.

“Look,” he says, wringing his hands, a nervous tic. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about the custody thing the moment I saw you, but you were … I don’t know. I’m not …” He takes a deep breath, barrels on. “I can’t be sorry that I did it, because it was the right thing to do, but – but I should not have let you find out from Stella this way.”

“It’s - ” Cordell coughs, clears his throat, looks away so Liam won’t see him tear up, again. “It’s fine. You are right. You – were trying to protect them, and I wasn’t there when I should have been. I get it. I do.”

“No, you don’t," Liam says sharply, slamming his flat hand onto the table hard enough to make the glasses jump.

“You don’t understand, man. You don’t –“ He exhales, shakily. “I thought you were dead.”

Cordell stares at him in shock. “You – what?”

Liam throws up his hands. “What did you expect? You went dark _for three months_. You were supposed to check in every couple of weeks, and then suddenly – nothing. What was I supposed to think?”

He shakes his head. When he finds Cordell’s gaze again, there are tears in his eyes. “I mean, we told the kids that it was normal, that you were fine, you knew what you were doing, there was no chance that anything could have happened to you, but …. _fuck_. I had Larry sitting in my kitchen one night, crying into his beer because he felt guilty for encouraging you to take that horrible case, and I … I couldn’t help but wonder whether you had just … cracked, whether you had just decided one day that you couldn’t take it anymore and walked straight into the path of a bullet.” He presses a palm over his mouth, and Cordell lifts a hand towards him, then drops it because he isn’t sure if his comfort is welcome right now.

“I would _never_ –“ he starts helplessly, then breaks off, can’t bring himself to continue because he isn’t sure he can say it with the necessary conviction, because he isn’t sure he believes it himself, and judging by the look on Liam’s face he wouldn’t believe him either.

“There was no way for me to know that,” Liam says tonelessly. “I couldn’t know that.” He walks around the table, then, steps closer, crowds Cordell against the table, and Cordell wonders idly if this time he is actually going to get hit.

“Damnit, Cordie,” Liam says, and he sounds broken, helpless, terrified. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

He raises his hand, and Cordell sucks in a sharp, ragged breath at the sensation of Liam’s palm against his jaw, the feathery caress of a thumb against his cheekbone, and all of sudden the mood shifts, turns into something heavy, loaded, like the air during a hot summer afternoon right before the thunderstorm hits.

Because here it is, that third shadow that’s been following him around everywhere he goes, the one he has been dodging so diligently, so successfully, except for all the lonely nights when he would lie awake in the bed of a person who wore his face but didn’t exist, all keyed up with adrenaline and frustration and miserably longing for relief, desperately trying to imagine anything other than the face of his dead wife, only to have the memory of Liam’s hands creep into his thoughts, unbidden, until eventually he’d end up beating off angrily, unhappily, wretchedly, without thinking of anything at all.

And now he is home, in reach again of Liam’s hands, and almost despite himself he closes his eyes, turns his face into the touch, feels his stubble drag against the softness of Liam’s palm.

“Thought you said we shouldn’t do this anymore,” he says, his lips moving against Liam’s skin.

“So did you,” Liam says quietly, and Cordell nods, because yes, of course, they have both said it, have told each other far too many times, only to end up right here again eventually, inevitably, with Liam’s hand on his face and that fragile, shameful longing in Liam’s eyes.

He considers stepping back, _he does_ , and that too, is a thought he’s had more times than he can count, but the table is pressing against his back and he can blame it for staying right where he is, and then Liam leans in or maybe he bends down, it doesn’t matter, because they are meeting in the middle, mouths hungry and scared, welcoming and angry all at once. 

When they break apart for air, an eternity later, Liam’s hands are under his shirt and Cordell’s fingers are in Liam’s hair and they are both breathing hard. They have long passed the point of no return, and Cordell knows how this night is going to end: with both of them squeezed together on the narrow leather couch that is too small to hold them both, their jeans around their knees and Liam under him, curls clinging to his sweaty forehead, breath hitching on every thrust, his hands on Cordell’s back, pulling him closer, deeper, asking for everything he has to give. 

But for this brief moment, they are in stasis, frozen, teetering on the edge, and then Liam sighs and says, quietly, “I thought I’d never see you again,” and Cordell nods and leans in and says _yes_ , because really, he wasn’t all that sure he would, either.

Then they are kissing again, and this is the worst thing that has happened since he came back, and it is the best thing to happen in a long time: devastating and destructive, and familiar and comforting, and he can run and twist and hide as much as he wants, flee into conspiracy theories and undercover assignments, but this, here, the feeling of coming apart under Liam’s hands, that is a shadow he’ll never be able to shake off.

Even if he could, he can’t say in all honesty that he would.


End file.
